


Home Is Where Your Heart Is

by hellhoundsprey



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Ashing, Bestiality, Bondage, Cock Rings, Dehumanization, Double Anal Penetration, Enemas, Feminization, Foot Fetish, Force-Feeding, M/M, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Sex Toys, Sounding, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, cigarette burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:11:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8358610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: Burglar!jensen (~25) breaks into hitman!jared’s (40) mansion. He gets caught. Jared, a chronically underentertained man, finds joy in playing with his new pet.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Theboys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/gifts).



> For Sir, in endless worship.

He should clean here more often. All that dust in the air will force him to keep closer watch out for dehydration.

He drips prettily, though.

Scarlet red dots on concrete floor. That mouth would look obscene even if not upside-down and hanging open in unconsciousness. (Drip, drip, drip; maybe a cup of water tomorrow, see how that goes.)

Wasn’t polite, no, but Bird is a bratty little thing. Too muscular for his own good.

Too dumb, too.

Kids these days. You’d think they’d have enough sources to wisen up on. Jared, for example, as a kid – you had your network of friends who’d tell you exactly which houses to ring the bell on and which ones to avoid on Halloween. Didn’t even need adults for that, let alone the internet. Things work out easily enough as long as you’re smart, and, foremost: prepared.

And Bird didn’t do his homework.

He’ll be pissed as hell once he wakes up, and Jared has a feeling he won’t have the curtesy to look for the fault within himself.

Nah. The little shit’ll probably point his finger right at Jared, accuse him, of- Okay, maybe of tying him down, true; but he’d be out of his mind to expect Jared not to.

It’s not even a pretty job; purely purposive. (Jared frowns, stubs out his current just to fumble for a new cig.) Did the job, yes, but.

Well, he hadn’t much to play with recently. Passion comes and goes with stimuli.

Bird gurgles in his sleep, coughs, wheezes, stirs some. Not that it gets him anywhere. Reminded of his own liberty by the picture in front of him, Jared leans back, rolls his head to work some tension out of his neck. He tucks escaped hair back behind his ear, lets his knees fall open wider; suckles on his smoke.

The camera and motion sensor are set up, and yet here he is, surprisingly unwilling to go back upstairs and into his bed, even though it’s shit-o-clock in the morning and the cellar isn’t exactly heated.

He scratches at his chin. Bird stirs again. Naked toes try to find leverage they won’t get, and Jared stares at the yellow-white-blue skin. Looks cold. Maybe he shouldn’t have burned the boots yet.

But then again, these feet are extraordinaire.

Jared pets his dick like he pets his dogs when they’re yipping at the promise of treats.

Wait for it.

~

“You really look younger than twenty-eight,” Jared says. His eyes are laser-focused on Bird’s asshole split open on not one but two cocks on-screen, but he prefers the audio of Jensen struggling awake right behind him. “I’m sure you get that a lot, though.”

Confused muttering, more wheezing. Jared rolls his eyes. What a drama queen. Jared didn’t even clip him _that_ hard.

Then, “Whu- whatam- you sonofabitchoh _fuck_ ,” and Jared’s cock throbs alive at the desperation in the last syllable.

This, right here, is the peak of power. The moment they realize they’re no longer in control. And, in case Jared let them catch a glimpse of his face before knocking their lights out, that it’s _Jared_ who’s owning this control now.

Jensen Ross fucking Ackles knows exactly what Jared looks like.

And Jared’s dogs.

And the blueprint of Jared’s house.

Jensen knows that Jared knows Jensen was about two movements away from successfully breaking into Jared’s home, and when Jared considers this circumstance, then the little bird doesn’t sound nearly as desperate as he should.

“Mmmh. Spoken like a true poet.” Strg and tab, other window, porn still playing elsewhere. Jensen smiles like a toothpaste ad here, has his mom in his arms and a girl plastered to his back. They probably wouldn’t dream of half of the names he gives himself outside of Facebook and family friendly content. “You majored in computer engineering though,” Jared notes. Turns to his bird, smiles. “Multi-talented. Impressive.”

The kid glares daggers across the room. His nostrils flare ugly, and Jared already regrets not gagging this one from sec one.

“Let me the fuck go.”

He’s ruining the moment, for Christ’s sake.

“It’s a bad habit to reject compliments like that. Ungrateful, even.” Jared gets up with a sigh, doesn’t miss to turn up the volume of Bird getting fucked or to catch a glimpse of the devastation in Bird’s face. He must have seen the Facebook tab. The one with his real name on it.

“Look,” and yeah, no shit, Jared _does_ look; at the fucking guts the kid has to run his pink little kitten tongue over his gash-split lip, and Bird doesn’t exactly know yet, but, really? At this point, reeling Jared’s attention in any further on any of his pretty-raw orifices is the last thing he should be doing. “Look, man, ‘m sorry, a’right? I’ve learned my lesson, I’m fucking _sorry_ , so jus’ hand me over to the cops an’ I’ll be outta your way.”

Jared picks up his loyal, loyal surgery scissors while striding his first step to the poor little thing in the unfortunate position of its ass up and his head down on what is Jared Tristan Padalecki’s private property.

“Oh,” Jared coos, and Jensen’s eyes which should widen _squint_ , and fuck, that’s hot. “You’re ‘sorry’?”

Eyes flicker from Jared to scissors to Jared to scissors to, “Y-yeah,” tiniest little stutter in this goddamn world, but Jared finds it and eats it alive.

Jared squats down next to his bird’s hanging head. Can witness the jackrabbit of that pulse right on that beautiful neck. The heavy flush comes from the position he’s fixed in, but Jared knows panic when he sees it.

“I fear that’s not gonna cut it, sweetheart.”

Jared has the feeling that if he’d just give the slightest movement to the scissors, Bird would stare at them instead of him. Attention goes to the most menacing thing in the room, and Jared lives off the rare human acknowledgement of his existence.

In his line of work, you don’t have many friends. ‘S why he’s got all these dogs, ‘s why the thought of keeping a stray bird tickles him just right.

All the loneliness gets him itchy in his murder-parts, and that’s not healthy.

Southern-thick drawl of, “Maybe if you ask again, more nicely,” but Bird’s gathering a mouthful of what Jared finds out is mostly blood by word number three.

Well. Jokes on him – Jared really fucking _loves_ body fluids.

“You’re just proving my point here.”

Right hook to right jaw; this is _art_.

“ _Rude_.”

Jared wipes the back of his hand over his own cheek to lick what that mouth gifted him with before he stuffs it pretty-wide around a scratchy, old dish towel. Bird’s blinking like he’s about to clock out again, but nah, kid’s tough. Probably took harder beatings from a cock before.

Everything about real-life Bird stiffens, of course, at the twitch Jared gives to the scissors. Pretty tip-nosed little thing doesn’t plead for mercy through his cotton gag. Dumb alright but maybe at least somewhat realistic.

“You’re a brat. You know that?”

One push and Jared’s on his feet, circles the customized piece of furniture he likes to call The Spreader. (Too many reasons, really, one more delicious than the next, but thing is that it’s adjustable, and the setting it’s in right now is the one for the pretty birds. Another favorite is ideal to get them to sing, but that’s usually for commissioned pieces of work which Jensen’s everything but.)

Could slide his fingers along with his eyes, but not yet, not yet.

“Pretty though, I’ll give you that.”

Together with Jared coming to a stand directly behind him, Bird seems to sink into the last inches of his predicament. The trouble he got his ass into. Yeah. Specifically his ass.

One violent twitch when Bird hears the scissors smirk open, but he’s perfectly still but for a kitten-tremble throughout the cutting. Jared pinches the seam to slice through easier, safer (doesn’t want to harm him here, not in this way). Just a small cut, just to get three of his fingers or so in.

Scissors aside; fingers hooked, pull.

Why is the tearing of clothing so satisfying?

Smooth shiver down Jared’s spine, curling up to linger between his legs. Little back heaving against the bondage and slanting surface, pretty hitch at the first drag of long ( _long_ ) fingers over the exposed cleft of ass.

Waxed to perfection. Jared feels like purring.

As if for him.

He shakes the heat out of his head though for now, instead turns to go for the enema kit in the shelf facing Bird’s ass.

“You’re so calm.” Lube on the nozzle and in it goes. “This happened to you before?” He hangs the bag on its stand and can’t hold back from brushing the beautiful arch of a heel; just a tickle, just a feather’s weight of a touch. The set-up is rounded quickly. Jared squats again, this time right in front of his plaything.

Chin on folded hands on knees, cocked head. Green holds his gaze unalteredly and returns it with blank intent to kill.

(Jensen Ross doesn’t look like the type who’d murder more than a fly, though. Jared’s checked: kid did a few gigs, some minor burglary, some not so minor hacking. Maybe he’s the one Jared can blame on the necessity of burning his good ol’ hard drive and replacing it with newer, safer, a few weeks ago.)

Jared lets his eyes flicker up to exposed skin, back to green. Jensen’s porn alter ego is still getting pounded in the background. The first waver of breath from this bleeding nose in front of him though, that’s what riles him up right now.

“Figured you can take a pint.”

More fluttering. Jared dimples up for it.

The sweating starts in halfway through the fun, not far from whimpers Bird sure wishes he’d bitten back better. Eyes stutter shut at some point, and Jared adjusts himself in his jeans before getting up once more. The pants come off completely now. Almost a shame: they fit so damn well. Jared enjoys fecal matter just as much as anyone else, but tonight he’s not in the mood for more than washing blank skin free of it.

The bag is empty just in time, and Jared’s cock dip-licks against his zipper at the tug it takes to pull the nozzle free. As desperate as the pucker of Bird’s hole forces itself shut, as indifferent is the pressure of liquid in his guts.

“C’mon. Baby, we both know you’ve noticed the drains in the floor.”

Bird is shaking. Toes curled. _God_.

Jared steps aside in precaution, pets Bird’s ass and fits his hand into the bend between upper and lower body. One gentle press has Bird lurching, and Jared whispers him through the humiliation of emptying himself. Jared’s hand goes for the bladder, too, and wow, ouch, that must have been a bitch.

When things are over, there comes soap and close to lukewarm water. Bird is quiet. Jared cleans most between his toes. Maybe unnecessary, but after all, this is all play and no work. If timed right, Jared can have so many hours with this one.

And who knows... Some animals _can_ be tamed.

But, later.

Blind reach for another set of tubes. Bird seems like someone who likes vanilla. More Vaseline, crouch before the pretty thing. He fights it, this time, but Jared has two hands and all Bird can move is his head on his neck, so.

A steady stream of rumble on the slide down. Jared would tell him to relax his throat if he didn’t know it’s vain effort anyway. He sweeps his thumb along the diamond-cut of Jensen Ross’ cheek, catches some sweat or tears from right underneath his lashes.

Ackles wears discomfort like a sash. Jared might be in lust here.

“I know, baby, I know.”

Gravity works its way once more, fills Bird up once more. He splutters this time. Would be easier to breathe if Jared took the gag out, yeah. Would.

Anyway.

Jared grabs the chair and tags it along so he has a first-row seat to the beauty of Bird’s backside. Contended at the thought his pet is getting fed right now, Jared takes in the sight with a sigh, starts out with thighs; runs his hands wherever they want.

His, now. All his.

The video has stopped some time ago, so it’s all quiet but for the struggles of someone fighting their nasogastric tube (gurgle-snort-cough; gorgeous). Jared’s cock is about to strangle itself in his jeans – an exquisite pain he likes to extend as long as possible. Makes it so much better when he learns his new toy skin-first, caresses him like a dear lover.

Smooth all over. Jared can’t help but rub his cheek against the firmness of a biceps femoris. He nips his way along an inner thigh until his nose nudges fear-tight sac. He’s got his eyes closed as his tongue darts out for the first time, barely touches skin but Bird reacts like he’s been shot. So he _is_ aware.

Jared sighs again, less inhibited this time, and makes it a game to fool around with the various things a mouth can do to a testicle; but only the left one, and without causing pain. His pet should learn that Jared is willing to play nice on occasion. That he _can_ be nice. If he wants to.

If.

It’s a very important lesson.

Now hungry, Jared’s mouth works itself up, sucks kisses into the smoothness of this taint. He’s reached his prize almost too fast, thought he’d like to linger some more, but once he’s there it’s all he wants.

This asshole was made to eat peaches and cream from. Jared would cross himself if he hadn’t abandoned God decades ago, groans his delight instead.

Bird trembles like he’s ten years younger and his ass is tight like a jailbait-threat.

Not that Jared is proud of being able to make that comparison, but hey.

“Boyfriend? Girlfriend?” He’s love-drunk against this trembling thing, laps right back in once he’s done speaking, waits with his eyes closed and his tongue working. Jensen’s whimper of what sounds like negation is Jared’s cue to fall for good; to dig his hands into one cheek each and pull wide.

Pretty in pink. Jared’s cock cries.

Lost mouth-first, Jared doesn’t pay attention to the state of his bird’s food supply. It’s long run dry when he remembers, and Jared dares a break to remove the tube and clean up. Rubs idly at his dick, hears himself breathing hard. Sits back down, dives back in.

Bird’s sounds soften along with his ass. Both is loose by the time Jared pulls back for air. He’s got tears in his eyes from how wet he’s between his legs himself, notices with satisfaction that Ackles is erect, too.

Slut.

(Of course at least half of that’s in virtue of adrenaline, but.)

Cock out, handful of lube. Jared stands.

Wet thwack-twhack-twhack of ten inches on spit-soaked asshole, beautiful and heavy and so so warm Jared wants to crawl in there fist-first.

Bird is quiet like a mouse on the quick slide in, only starts huffing at inch seven or so.

“Soon you’ll beg for this. Can you imagine?”

Eight, nine, ten. Four on the thickest part, and this asshole feels like it hasn’t seen anything beyond a half for a tad too long. Whited out along the edge, sobbing to fit, squeeze-and-hold and never let me go.

(Oh, Jared won’t.)

It takes a while to get his bird to sing a few lines. Jared growls for them, slams harder, faster, and he hasn’t even gotten started yet.

To scratch an itch like that. Heavenly.

Hips on autopilot, nuts already pulling tight, but Jared needs to prove a point here. Could be exaggerated given the fact that someone who’s tied and bent into immobility should understand what position they’re in, but this here is a little brat, and Jared loves to put those into place.

Said place being underneath Jared’s boot, of course. Or stuck on his cock. Or his gun.

(These things blur, sometimes.)

“Gonna make me come, Jenny.”

There’s an unwilling grunt at that. Jared laughs. He’s run tests of course while his toy was out. Wouldn’t get any fleas from a stray, no, but this one’s pedigree like Jared’s boys upstairs.

“Gonna be a good girl, baby? Yeah,” and he knows he’s babbling, smiles heedless for it just because he can, lets go, “yeah, good girl, good _girl_.”

With just the head inside, cream pearls out so easily. Makes a pretty picture on the pull-out; overflowing, like it’s gallons, like Jared’s too much to take. His fucktoy hauls for air, winks closed just to sob out more daddy-slick.

Two fingers in; hook ‘em. Jared’s always been a gold digger.

“Push.”

Barely audible bird-sound. Almost like a sob.

Almost.

~

He’s being watched just as intently as he watches.

The cherry gleams red on the inhale, and Jensen’s eyes tear up graceful on the exhale. Held-back cough. Jared has a hint of respect set aside for the stoic ones.

Right hand on a journey over skin and rope. Jared’s been hard from the moment he took the gear out of his bedroom drawer.

“Beautiful,” he says.

“You’re getting’ repetitive, asshole.”

Jared chuckles.

A graze of knuckles over engorged phallus. His bird tries hard not to let the hope show, but once Jared’s hand withdraws, his glare tightens so much he could as well have spat some more insults.

Some gag-free time to give the split a chance to heal. Jared likes his holes intact-pink.

“Someone tied you up like this before?” Means: has your body been loved like this before? “Be honest with me.”

“No,” says Jensen, light and easy like the drag of Jared’s hand over the length of his foot. “Handcuffs though.”

More chuckling. “Figured.”

“Not by a cop,” Jensen points out, and Jared’s smile warms. His pet knows him so well already.

“Ever been caught before?”

“No.” Eyes slide shut in the pleasure of a somewhat-relaxed position, of soft, nice touches. Sounds like a flirt when he adds completely unnecessary, “First time.”

“First time for everything.”

He takes a seat, his usual one, between Jensen’s legs. The little thing wills itself more relaxed, and the ropes cut into his body some more on this deep inhale. He sags prettily on the exhale, and his bound cock gives a pitiful twitch. Thighs fall open a little wider. Jared feels at home.

A thumb to the honey-swell of asshole, a suck on his smoke.

Jensen’s gasps almost sounds like a ‘please’.

Jensen hasn’t seen daylight in twenty days now, but what he really complains about is the severe lack of orgasms. It’s not Jared’s fault though that he’s got so much time to play with him every day – if people can’t afford his services, he won’t raise a finger. He can afford it.

“Do you want the machine again, baby? Or mine?”

“Anything. Anything you want.”

“That bad?”

“Yeah. Fuck, please.”

Raised eyebrow. His smile falls away, and Jensen pales visibly. “This seems to be starting to get to your head.” A flick against the neglected red of Jensen’s cock; as fucking pretty as the rest of him, especially when threatened. (His bird’s a masterpiece, really.) “Maybe we should get rid of it. ‘S not like you need it anyway.”

“No, please-“

That first plea explodes into Jensen’s first real scream. Years of practice made Jared’s knots tight enough for a single hand to be sufficient in stilling the thrashing pile of meat. It’s trying to escape from the searing burn of a now effectively stubbed out cherry-gleam, and Jared can’t blame a man for an instinct.

Jensen’s sobbing about as bad as his cockhead, not far off the black-raw moon of burnt tissue. Bondage and cock ring keep it from deflating, from soothing the ache with less pressure, and Jared’s palm folds around the shaft to jerk like a love poem.

The sounds he tickles out this way are inhuman.

“Mine,” he reminds, lets go, gives a break. His cock lurches powerfully against the confinements of his jeans. He frees it (generously), strokes himself, thumbs at the pain-clutch of Bird’s asshole again. Breaches it dry, hears muttering, licks his lips.

Allows his head to tilt to the side, feels his heart trip as he mouths at Jensen’s big toe; just the tip.

~

“Open up.”

Tongue on command, like this is a restaurant.

“Good boy.”

Jensen coughs prettiest on a throatful of ashes and doesn’t even try anymore to bite at the meat of Jared’s hand that seals him shut. Convulses neglected around the throb of Jared’s cock, huffs and grunts and slobbers like Jared’s paying him.

Peccadillo. That’s how Bird calls his porn career.

Young, desperate for dick and attention and money. Getting reamed on camera got him all of it, until he tired of it, he said.

Adrenaline junkie. Jared sees himself there somewhere, only that he knew what he was good for ever since he accidentally snapped his first neck in middle school, buried his first body, had his first orgasm with his granny’s backyard-dirt still clinging to his fingernails.

Adrenaline junkie. So, in a way, he’s helping Jensen get off here.

Plugged all the way, Jensen’s cock bounces hard enough to smack his Jared-bulge-belly, leaves a clear string of precome that somehow never fails to snake its way around the sound, no matter how thickly Jared picks it.

Jensen’s a wet little thing, has been from the beginning, but this is obscene.

Angled up just right, Jared can feel the hint of bulbous sound from the other side of Jensen’s prostate. It’s fascinating, really.

“’M gonna come, ‘m gonna come-“

Birdie sings nonsense when Jared releases his mouth, always, licks at his spit as if it will stop spilling, has been this close half an hour ago, for days, a week or two; Jared doesn’t count ‘em anymore at this point.

But, God.

 _God_ , Jensen shrieks, and something’s happening, back-unloading inside him probably, and Jared’s own orgasm hits him like the blowback from his favorite MG.

The scarred mess of cock is still flailing when Jared withdraws the metal rod. Together with the thick base comes a gush of baby-milk; red-white peppermint swirl.

Jared’s favorite flavor.

~

“I knew who you were. That you kill people for a living.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Sniff.

“Didn’t stop you.”

Almost-bitter laugh. “Nah.”

“You’re tough shit, hm.”

“Don’t you know it.”

Jared smiles around the pad of Jensen’s index finger. The scars feel funny under his tongue; he suckles in adoration of the chase.

~

The red back of their baby’s throat makes a mama or papa bird want to stuff it.

That’s kinda how it works with Jensen and him, too.

Jensen kneels like a class A slave (which he kind of is), devout like a church boy (which he never was, never will be, despite the divinity that is Jared). He’s paled down to a hush of freckles on white, hair’s a little thinner, but his cheeks look goddamn good in this shade of starvation.

The spider gag makes him leak instantly. A chain reaction, pulling Jared along sex-first.

Eyes closed, Jensen tries to fade out, but Jared smacks him across the face with what he’s been sliding past Jensen’s gag reflex once he had a second to dream past the perfection of his asshole; and Jensen won’t go anywhere, never, if Jared doesn’t want him to.

Eyes fixed on each other, Jensen’s with him a hundred percent. One hand at the back of his head even though he wouldn’t dream of squirming away. The descent seems endless, always, and Jensen’s proud huff once he lip-kisses Jared’s pubes reminds Jared of his dogs upstairs.

“Better,” he praises.

Jensen’s throat sounds like Jared’s turning it inside-out on the pull back.

From this perspective, looming, Jared can catch secret glimpses at the sweet curl of Jensen’s toes underneath his ass.

~

One two three pause. One two three – pause.

Jared sweats, blinks up at the ceiling; head hung back. Jensen’s as hot as a furnace in his lap, back leaning against Jared’s chest, and vibrates like the toy Jared’s shoved inside him next to his cock.

One two three pause.

Jared rearranges his grip on the fleshlight, tips his head forward to nip at his baby’s ear and peak at the metal-fed tip polished to a slick, perfect red.

Jensen’s huffing like he’s running a marathon, quivers like twelve years pinned between brick wall and gun barrel.

(Kids cost double. Jared’s a moralist like that.)

“Baby girl, you’re burning _up_ ,” he sighs, and kisses Jensen’s clicking throat as he thumbs up the speed setting.

~

“I prefer guns,” explains Jared, smacks the magazine up and in with the flat of his palm. “They’re fast and uncomplicated. Most clients want a clean job.”

Jensen voice is only almost-shivery, his smirk almost not-show. “Yeah. You live to please.”

“I do, I do.”

Jared smiles along and loves how Jensen’s drops at the raised gun, pointing between his eyes.

Pull-back of safety catch.

Jared’s bird takes a sorry little breath.

Jared whispers, “Your dick twitched just now, you know that?”

Jensen swallows audibly, forces his breath out between his teeth. Slicks his eyes up to Jared’s.

“You’re perfect.”

Admission. Confession. Something like that.

(Jared feels light-hearted, heavy-dicked.)

“You’re _perfect_. You know that, Bird?”

Step towards Jensen, gun closer, Jensen’s eyes unsure, twitches in his bondage. Grits his pretty teeth, forces his eyes shut when the barrel digs under the hinge of his jaw to tip his head up, lets Jared study the tick-tick-tick of pulse that extends from throat to gun to hand to Jared’s own empty heart.

Jared has a job today. He’ll board a plane in an hour, will ruin someone’s perfectly ordinary Thanksgiving dinner. He was told ‘no traces’, so Jared’s packed the body bags, the cement.

All in all, it will take him ten hours until he can be back in this very spot. He’ll tube-feed Jensen last thing, even after he’s fed the dogs.

Jensen, of course, doesn’t know that. Asked sheepishly what’s wrong, why Jared’s so strung up today, and Jared didn’t even know he could still be nervous. That he _is_ nervous.

Bullshit, of course. No reason to be upset.

Yes – if something _should_ happen, if anything goes wrong, then Jensen will rot down here.

Without Jared’s care, at this rate, he’ll die within as much as twenty-four fragile hours. And nobody would ever know.

(Hasn’t talked to his parents in ages. Split up with his girl a few days before he made the fatal decision to rob a hitman whose name and address he picked up on some dark web chat. No friends; he’d just had moved states, made too many mistakes in the last. Was supposed to be a new beginning, this time. Do everything better. Get big. Lone wolf style, reckless, dumb, in over his head.)

But Jared – you maybe don’t quite understand, my friend, no – Jared, he doesn’t _make_ mistakes.

“I will kiss you now-” Down, down, down, until the barrel is warm and tucked up neat against Jensen’s balls. “-and if there’s as much of a nip, I’ll shoot.”

Jared hasn’t kissed anyone but his dogs in a long, long time.

Jensen couldn’t have given him a better parting gift.

~

If it’s a panic attack or lack of muscle, Jared doesn’t know (doesn’t care). Supports Jensen with an arm under his present-wrapped arms, presses his free hand down on his curling-alive sex.

“Very good. Almost there, baby.”

The sound of the door opening, of the light – even though it’s evening and Jensen’s blindfolded – makes Bird hyperventilate, makes his tender knees buckle. Jared scoops him up, shushes and coos, and he’s barely got the door pulled shut when the pack is already swarming around them.

Jensen whines in pure distress.

“Boys, _no_.” They barely part, too excited for the new human that no longer is a scent between their daddy’s legs (and fingers and face and all of him, really), but Jared manages to get upstairs, carries his pet bridal-style and is clutched at like love. He murmurs praise into darkened-out blond, has slicked through his pants by the time the bedroom door is closed, dogs scratching outside, his baby an unsure mess on the bed; confused, scrambling, blind. A little drugged, okay, but those were tranquilizers which seem to not do their do.

“Baby. Baby, shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

He’s too out of it to open his mouth for Jared’s tongue. Strawberry-chocolate tube food from somewhere deep, close to where Jensen seems to haul his deep-ass panting from.

Jared lowers the both of them down, gently nudges Bird’s thighs apart with his knee. They fly out and up immediately, a reflex by now, and Jared’s proud.

“Doin’ so good. Can sleep here tonight, whatchu think, huh?”

The honesty of the situation finally seems to brand its way into Jensen’s brain. He stops squirming. Would be staring up at Jared if it wasn’t for the blindfold.

“Better than your rack downstairs, innit?”

The softness of the bed must be overwhelming. Even before his months in Jared’s cellar, his baby hadn’t ever slept in something this luxurious; Jared couldn’t be more sure.

Mute Bird is adorable and extraordinarily cuddly. Cranes into Jared’s touches once he’s starting to calm down, even gets a hard-on with the expensive silk smothering his battered body just right. Jared jacks him sweet until he’s honey-oozing, then plays with his nipples until he himself is so hard he’s afraid to pull a muscle if he doesn’t stick it somewhere warm _now_.

He makes love to the pussy-softness he’s turned Bird into, makes heart-eyes at the cock-convex to the left of that belly button.

It’s when he finds out Jensen’s feet taste like cellar floor that Jared decides against any more walking for his pet.

~

“Stand. Crawl. Stand. Crawl. _Stay_.”

Jensen’s eyes look for approval. He moves quick for someone without a gun pointed to their temple.

“Good,” Jared says; almost sounds as surprised as he (admittedly) is.

Jensen almost smiles.

“I’ll let the boys in now.”

Paleness. Betrayal.

“Don’t gimme that look,” Jared frowns, walks to answer the door with the yipping behind it. “They just wanna say hello.”

The dogs are all over his baby in an instant, and Jared orders for him to get on all fours when he stupidly tries to curl in on himself.

He’s shaking so hard Jared can hear his teeth rattling.

Walks over to the sofa. Bird in side-view, six dogs sniffing him up and down.

Jared probably shouldn’t have told him about that one client. The one who tried to fuck Jared over and ended up... Well.

Let’s say he couldn’t take the sight of his family golden retriever anymore once he made it back home.

Duke’s the first one to sniff around Bird’s ass, and the following not-dog yelp is sharp enough to scare two studs away from his face.

Jared can barely contain his laughter.

“Jensen, be _nice_.”

As if Jared would let _anyone_ have his Jensen. But Jensen doesn’t know that. It’s just too much fun to threaten him with all kinds of stuff – gang bangs, public use, doggie cock.

Also, it’s probably for the better to leave his affection unnoticed.

Jensen steels himself to be mounted any second; Jared can tell. His boy’s crying even after Max and then Harley and then Jake had their turn to scent him back there, as it is completely normal behavior for dogs. Jensen’s more of a cat person, probably.

The carpet is soft and his boys take varying degrees of interest in the show they’re getting. Bear looks upset over the high-pitched noises Bird makes, ducks his head and wags his tail, tries to lick Bird’s mouth in comfort which only makes the wails louder. Harley’s the one darting for the mess on the carpet when Jared pulls out cream-thick, and Jared watches enrapt with a steady stream of hushes for Bird through his teeth when he continues his clean-up between Bird’s tense-tight ass cheeks. Paws them wider for his fur-baby, stutters praise for his bird-baby, fucks his cock right back inside once Harley’s pulled back.

Doesn’t stop slamming up into his prostate until he’s weeping in three places.

“Good boy,” for his dog, “good girl,” for his bird; Jared smiles blissed-out.

~

The second bedroom is spacious enough to house good old Spreader, but Jared’s a professional and leaves it downstairs; it’s a job thing, really. Instead, he gets a new, additional one done. Jensen’s shoulders slump slightly at the sight of it.

Ah. Sweet nostalgia.

This one is smoother, with padded increments here and there. Can’t ever be careful enough, even after more than a year of intimacy – spider gag in place, machine slick-fucking Bird’s insides to oblivion like Jared’s doing it to his other end. Bird’s burn victim hard-on is thrumming in the clutch of a see-through toy; the reviews said it’s like getting sucked off by an angel, so Jared added the same warming ginger lube he used to insert the fifty-one French plug into Bird’s urethra.

(It does fucking _wonders_ on Bird’s voice.)

So, yeah, Jared apparently really lives to please.

Newborn-soft soles, gently wrinkling cause those toes curl, never stop doing that, not when Jared’s so thoroughly in his ministrations.

Once he can, Bird slurps, “Thank you,” like the polite thing Jared sculpted out of him, and Jared kisses, kisses, kisses.

~

Bird’s one of the boys now; no denying that.

“You’re back!”

Sweet weight of arms around Jared’s neck, never a threat, not with the skin-deep shock chip in the back of Jensen’s head. (The hair grew back, and he’s so so pretty.)

Jared’s in love alright, but it takes more than that to make him dumb.

“Baby. Hey.”

Hour-long kisses, the dogs practically climbing on top of each other; but Jared’s got a favorite who can hop up and curl his legs around his waist, and that’s kinda hard to beat, even with those eternal puppy-eyes of theirs.

(Jensen will never stop staring out of the windows once he thinks Jared isn’t looking, but that’s a betrayal Jared can live with.)

“You did good, yeah? You’ve been good?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bird smiles forever-young, perfect white teeth Jared never smashed in (Jared always pays attention to that). “Did you bring chicken for dinner, Daddy?”

“You have a doggy-nose, I swear to God, Ackles.”


End file.
